


Ineffable

by orphan_account



Series: the beautiful and the profound (words) [16]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Bunk Cuddles, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Spooning, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, can be read as platonic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 06:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13312080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (adj.) too grand or great to be expressed in words.It’s healing, Josh thinks. It’s necessary, Tyler agrees.It’s important, Tyler thinks. They can’t be without it, Josh agrees.They can’t be without each other, another voice mutters...





	Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> for anooshesh, who inspired this fic. ily!

There’s shuffling behind him, the door unlocking and Josh’s eyes flutter open but he lies still. Blankets pulled over his shoulder he stairs into the now dimly lit room, back to the now open door.

It’s so quiet a pin could be heard as it dropped, before the door handle shifts and the light begins retracting. There’s careful feet padding across the expensive hotel carpet. The bed dips and creaks and the sheets are lifted. Someone shivers at their coolness and Josh realises his whole body is rock solid with tension.

There’s a soft, familiar cough, even softer hands snaking around him as warmth presses against Josh’s back and Josh relaxes then. He wants to shake his head fondly but he just lets his eyes close and leans back into the embrace.

He doesn’t mention that he’d been lay there thinking about doing the same thing. He doesn’t even let his partner know he’s awake, instead he plays asleep as he snuggles deeper, a light blush painting his cheeks that the darkness swallows.

Tyler will be gone in the morning, he’s like that, last to sleep, first to rise. Josh worries himself silly about his lack of proper sleep until he walks in on him passed out on a couch or his bunk, and then he sighs and pulls a makeshift blanket over him.

Sometimes he sits, because Tyler has his slender piano fingers gripped tightly around Josh’s wrist, a subconscious action, that leaves Josh’s heart pounding louder than his kick drum.

After shows, when they’re tired and still sweaty despite a long shower, they’ll go to separate bunks and bid each other a sad smile at the distance before climbing in. Josh will cave first though, and he’ll slot himself into the space, like a cat fits into a container it knows it’s probably too big for. He purrs like a cat, well it’s more a deep hum but it rattles through Tyler’s own chest just the same, because Tyler’s hand is in his hair and their skin is sticking together. It should be awful, so why does Tyler’s whole body tingle like a kid at Christmas?

Finding a way to cuddle in a bunk is an art form Tyler has come to realise. It’s an art form he and Josh have yet to fully master but they’ve gotten close enough.

They don't spoon, there’s not really enough space. They find other ways to cuddle instead.

 Josh on his front, half on top of Tyler, face in the crook of Tyler’s neck, an arm around his waist. Tyler is flat underneath his side, his left leg tangled with Josh's, while his right leg hangs over the edge.

Occasionally one of them has to shift to avoid losing circulation in a limb but it works, it feels right and it’s a million times better than sleeping apart. They rarely sleep apart anymore.

One time when Josh messed up his sleeping pattern, he ended up sleeping the whole bus ride to the next venue, for thirteen hours straight.

None of the crew tell him about how Tyler played with his hair and rested his head in his lap at one point. Or how Josh had rolled over and wrapped his hands around Tyler’s waist and cuddled him close like a child hugs their stuffie. Tyler’s little squeak and pink ears being what drew their attention to the gesture in the first place.

Instead they tell him he drooled the whole time, and tease him for his light snores. But Josh knows he woke up cradling Tyler’s arm, head resting on Tyler’s chest as they both fell asleep on the couch, Tyler half hanging off the sofa, not even waking when he drops his Xbox controller with a loud clatter.

Neither knows when it got this way, maybe it was inevitable after months of sleeping pressed up against one another in the back of a van. Maybe it was because they’d used to pass out after shows practically falling on top of one another because they’d given it their all. Neither can pinpoint the exact moment their clinginess got so prominent that they no longer liked being apart. Josh supposes it was inevitable, they often were too busy to really hang out for the sake of hanging out, why not cash in hours of _‘just-the-two-of-us’_ time by sleeping next to one another.

It’s healing, Josh thinks. It’s necessary, Tyler agrees.

Neither one will admit the way their heart aches when they hold one another, or the way their dreams are filled with memories of lingering touches and passionate performances, loud laughter and the way their teeth catch on their lips when they bite them. They’re both too scared to ask the other when cuddling became the most important part of their day, neither one wants to risk losing this. This thing, whatever it is, is the only way Tyler actually gets sleep, and Josh knows he doesn’t sleep through the jolting of the bus at night unless Tyler’s there.

So they play innocent, and they sneak into rooms, they scale bunks and they pull one another into their sides, and tuck their heads into shoulders. They pretend they’re asleep and pretend it’s not their heart pounding or their breath hitching as sheets settle around them.

It’s important, Tyler thinks. They can’t be without it, Josh agrees.

They can’t be without each other, another voice mutters, but they don’t hear it, they’re too busy trying to both fit on the same crappy dressing room couch.


End file.
